In Which Nothing is Accomplished
by Azaisya
Summary: It is after classes, and everybody is in their rooms relaxing after a stressful day. Bartholomew questions the reasons for writing an essay. Glynda would be perfectly fine reading all night. Ozpin needs the notes from class. Peter is nowhere to be found. Oneshot, unestablished OzpinxGlynda.


**This is . . . I don't even know. This is my first RWBY fic, so I'm sorry if I broke some unspoken rule. There really is no point to this oneshot, other than me getting used to the characters. **

**On another note, this is unestablished OzpinxGlynda (dunno what the ship name is). They are at Beacon in this fanfic, second years or later.**

**I have several headcanons in here. One is that Glynda (who's my favorite character) was pretty emotionless as a child/student (that might be because I like those types of characters). Another is that she braided her hair as a student.**

**I also put our known professors onto a team together (if you can think of a better name for them, PLEASE tell me) because the wiki said that Qrow was with Taiyang, Summer, and Yang's mom (who I believe is Raven). Sorry if I'm being presumptuous or whatever; I just want to make my headcanons clear in case they're confusing.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own RWBY **

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><p>Alone in their dorm, two Beacon students rested after the school day. One, a blonde with sharp green eyes, turned the page in the book she was reading — the sort that was almost too heavy to carry and probably full of nothing but five-syllable words. Her normally stone-like expression was, for once, gentled, as she read leaning against the pillows she had propped up.<p>

Across the room, sitting at the only desk, was a young man her age. Despite the fact that he was writing an essay for class, he was talking almost too quickly to be understood. "I'm not quite sure I understand the point of this essay. All we're doing is repeating what's already in the book. At least, that's what most will do. Maybe change a word here and there. But I'm not going to do that, of course. After all, I already understand the basic idea. But what's the point of teaching us this? Do you know a synonym for 'alveolus'?" When there was no answer, he looked up, brown eyes gleaming beneath his glasses. The blonde had curled up, tucking her legs beneath her, and was absentmindedly curling the strand of hair framing the right side of her face with a finger. For a fraction of a second, a tiny smile flitted across his features. But then he pressed, "Glynda."

The blonde didn't bother looking up, merely turning the page in her book. "No, I don't."

There was another moment of silence as he took another sip from the mug that sat nearby. It was getting cold. He opened his mouth.

"No, I'm not heating it for you." Glynda flipped the page again. Somehow sensing his gaze on her, she looked up, impassive green eyes meeting his. "Bartholomew."

With a sigh, he returned to his essay, running his hands through his wild green hair.

The door opened, and, in a flash, Glynda had pulled herself up into a more dignified position — without tearing her eyes off the page — and Bartholomew hastily pretended to be writing.

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><p>Ozpin generally considered himself to be rather quiet. He wouldn't say shy; he merely spent more time thinking than talking. Those who talked too much rarely noticed what was going on around them. He prided himself in being perceptive. As his eyes roved over his team's shared room, he noticed immediately that Glynda's braid had been let loose from its normal coil. For a second, his gaze lingered on the way her green eyes darted back and forth as she read. It was obvious that she had been lying down before he'd come in; the blankets around her were wrinkled.<p>

Tearing his gaze away from her, he took in Bartholomew Oobleck's appearance instead. The other student, once he had realized who had come in, had stopped writing and was instead watching. He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his rumpled shirt.

Ozpin fully entered the room, closing the door behind him. Walking over to his friend, he said, "I missed the history lesson."

Bartholomew opened his mouth and began to talk rapidly, fingers twitching back towards his essay. Out of some mutation, he wrote better when he spoke.

Ozpin tried to follow the little speech, but gave up after three seconds (in which possibly more than a hundred words had been spoken) and instead turned to Glynda, ignoring the way his heartbeat quickened. The blonde turned the page of her book. "Bartholomew doesn't take notes," she said in her even tone, interpreting both his vague statement and Bartholomew's gibberish. "You know that."

And he had. He'd just forgotten. Bartholomew was not only able to memorize all of their history and science classes (almost verbatim), but somehow knew all of it beforehand.

Ignoring the fact that he could have spoken to her just fine from his current spot, Ozpin moved over to sit on the foot of Glynda's bed. Did she blush when he accidentally nudged her foot? Or was that just wishful thinking? "May I borrow your notes?"

She still didn't look up from her book, but her eyes had frozen on the page, clearly no longer reading. "Of course."

Ozpin had seen her angry before, seen her frustrated and upset and delighted. But most of the time, she hid her emotions behind an unfeeling mask. It had been worse at the beginning of their schooling. Ozpin and their little group of friends had slowly, but surely, gotten her to loosen up. At the same time, they convinced Ozpin to do fun (reckless) things and Summer to stay in the same room as Taiyang.

And so he found her lapse back into her old habits hurt him, despite the fact that it happened regularly. Just not here, in their room. Their safe haven in an otherwise hectic school.

Slowly, Glynda put down her book and turned to shuffle through the papers that sat beside her. Silently, she found the specified paper and handed it to him, still refusing to meet his eyes.

Just as silently, Ozpin slid closer and took it, dropping his gaze to look at the notes. Great. . . . It looked like he'd missed something important. He was so busy scanning the notes — Bartholomew's nonstop talking barely phased the team anymore — that he didn't notice that Glynda hadn't returned to her book.

When he looked up, about to thank her, his brown eyes met her green ones. They were a lot closer than before. Her knees touched his thigh, and her nose was inches from his. A blush leapt to her cheeks; he could feel his own burning. For a second, neither moved, both lost in what they saw in the other's gaze.

He opened his mouth, but Bartholomew interrupted him by adding an exceptional loud comment into his rant. "—and so of _course_ I take notes. I just can't ever find them again. Besides, there's—" His voice returned to its normal level, but the damage was done.

Glynda leaped backwards and almost hit her head against the wall, her braids flying over her shoulders. She was still blushing. Ozpin prided himself on his analytical skills, and had once known her better than she had ever suspected.

The first time the team had been assembled, the chances of their success had been depressingly low. Comprised entirely out of loners and those who would rather work alone, Team OPBG (pronounced Opal, which was a mystery in and out of itself) had been seemingly destined for failure.

That was, until Team QRTS (Quartz, and comprised of Qrow, Raven, Taiyang, and Summer) had been formed. From that moment on, the two teams had been rivals/allies (depending on the challenge, the weather, and whether the ketchup or the mustard wound up on the right).

Team OPBG often found themselves in classes and at meals together, and teams were required to at least "get to know each other." Bartholomew did most of the talking during those sessions. Peter Port would join in with the occasional impressive (boring) story. Glynda Goodwitch generally just sat and read, but whenever she did contribute, it was always worth listening to. For Ozpin, however, conversations were generally one-sided. The silver-haired young man preferred to study his teammates in silence. He had discovered a long time ago that, by reading body language, he could find out much more than simply talking all the time.

Especially when it came to the eccentrics that were in Team OPBG.

Sometime along the line, the dysfunctional team had become friends. Or maybe simply allies. Ozpin still couldn't find it in himself to call Peter Port a friend, Bartholomew talked enough for eight friends, and he was really hoping (despite telling himself that it was dumb) that he and Glynda might be more than friends.

But now he was digressing. Yes, he had once known Glynda Goodwitch very well. But then _that_ had happened, and he could barely figure out his own emotions, much less hers.

"Thank you," he said softly.

Glynda nodded, face still red, and gingerly picked up her book. Feeling the need to keep her talking, Ozpin asked, "What are you reading about?"

Glynda relaxed, her lips twitching slightly. "Dust," she said, stroking the cover of the book lovingly, "It's fascinating." There. A hint of the passionate girl he used to know like the back of his hand.

"I'm sure," Ozpin replied, watching the light's reflection in her glasses and the curl of her hair as she tucked it behind her ear. She nodded, but her attention had already drifted back to the words on the yellowing pages.

Feeling slightly emptier than before, Ozpin sat down and began the process of copying her notes. How was he supposed to know if she felt the same way he did? How did he even know what _he_ felt? From a very young age, Ozpin had repressed his emotions. They had changed things that should have been fact, added hidden variables to the equation of life, and had, to put it simply, mucked up his outlook on others.

And so he couldn't put a name to the emotions that coursed through him whenever he caught her watching him.

And he most certainly couldn't let Glynda guess that he had these emotions. Who knew what disasters that might entail? For all he knew, it might destroy what rickety friendship they had managed to cobble together.

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><p><strong>Review.<strong>


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